


i'm not a selfish man (out loud)

by soulas



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Soft, adam needs rest, andrew's brain is trying its best, idk happy endings, steven is a motherfuckin liar, the opposite of soft, these boys are hypocritical and emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulas/pseuds/soulas
Summary: I’m not going to ask him to stay, I’m not going to ask him to stay, don’t fucking do this to yourself,Andrew reminds himself over and over.-obligatory sad new york standrew





	i'm not a selfish man (out loud)

It’s Steven’s second going away party of the week and everyone’s drunk and laughing because this is a good thing. Steven moving to New York means that his career is advancing, he’s getting paid more, he’s always loved New York, he has friends there. There are bright strobe lights that keep flashing in Andrew’s eyes and a queasy cocktail of alcohol sloshing in his stomach that give him an excuse for the ache in his head and the tightness in his chest and the pain in his gut. He sees Steven somewhere to his left (his sense of space is starting to diminish somewhat), bent over in half with laughter and he looks _so_ _happy_.

Andrew downs another shot.

 _I need to tell Steven something_ , his inebriated mind tells him through the haze, and he can feel his feet moving almost without him realizing it. _He has to tell…something important…?_

“Woah.” That chair was not there before and now it’s under him? Weird.

“Hey.” The arm that pushed him onto the stool lingers on his shoulder and Andrew peers up to squint through the dimly lit room.

“Oh, hey Adam,” he says.

“Hey,” Adam says. “Are you okay? You look super drunk.”

“I’m only a little bit drunk,” Andrew protests, and tries to prove this by taking a sip from his drink but. The straw keeps moving slightly out of reach. He frowns and tries to grab it.

“Okay, I’m calling Annie.” Adam’s voice sounds distant. “You are way too drunk to drive home. We should get Steven home too, he looks fucking hammered.”

“Steven,” Andrew repeats numbly. “Adam, I—”

Adam gives him an exasperated look. “You and Steven should talk,” he says. “Preferably before he fucking leaves, okay?”

Andrew tries to wrap his mind around what Adam meant by that. He doesn’t know why but his brain starts offering him images of them at restaurants for Worth It. They sit squeezed into one booth, pressed up against one another like sardines to get a good shot, they’re talking to the chef and Andrew has a hand braced against the counter Steven’s leaning against so his arm brackets the two of them, Steven puts his arm around Andrew’s shoulder and Andrew just kind of sits there into it because what else is he supposed to do? They share their drinks without a second thought and Steven will eat whatever Andrew feeds him, even when he says he’s full (and wow, he really should not dwell too long on that one right now).

“Shut up, brain,” he mutters to himself.

“What?” Adam’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, and Andrew resists the urge to get another drink when he sees Adam and Steven standing in front of him. “Don’t go anywhere, Steven,” Adam says. “Or you, Andrew. I’m going to get Annie.”

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.” The words blur and topple into each other like unsteady dominos. Steven sways on his feet, and then grabs Andrew’s arm for support. He leans into Andrew for a moment and Andrew wishes to god this wasn’t a result of Steven being unable to hold his alcohol, he wishes that there wasn’t this party, that Steven wasn’t fucking leaving, that either of them had the nerve to say what should have been said months ago.

“I’m moving to New York!” Steven says suddenly. “Yeah!” He raises both arms like he’s a cheering a sports game. There’s a giddy smile on his face and Andrew wants to fucking crawl into his bed and never come out.

“Good for you,” he says. He thinks he does a good job of keeping the complete misery out of his voice.

“Andrew,” Steven whispers, and all of a sudden their faces are inches away. “Are you gonna miss me?”

Andrew looks into Steven’s eyes, which are remarkably clear and steady for someone who can’t stand upright without help.

“Yeah, of course I will,” he says softly. Too softly. He clears his throat. “I’ll miss your stupid jackets and your stupid obsession with basketball, that’s what I’ll miss."

Steven frowns and starts to say something, but before he can, Adam reappears with a somewhat annoyed Annie in tow.

“Where are the fuckers who can’t hold their drinks,” she says, jingling her keys on one finger.

“You know where Andrew lives, right? And then Steven can tell you his address,” Adam says to her. “Thanks. I’m going to check on the others.”

Annie turns to the two of them, and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s go, motherfuckers,” she says. “God, this is what happens when you’re the only adult with a car.”

As soon as he gets in the car, Steven immediately falls asleep on Andrew’s shoulder, which does not set off a startlingly vivd set of memories in Andrew’s mind of past times when Steven actually drinks enough to release drunk Steven, which usually just means cuddly, sleepy Steven.

 _This is the last time he’ll do this_ , his brain supplies helpfully.

 _Fuck off_ , Andrew tells himself.

“Damn, he’s knocked out,” Annie says, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. “I guess we’ll drop you off first and then wake him up so I’ll know where to go.”

“Haven’t you been to his place before?” Andrew asks.

“Yeah, but he’s moved out already. All his stuff is in New York. He’s been renting another apartment for the last week.” Annie frowns at him through the rearview mirror. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Andrew doesn’t think too much about the cold feeling that washes over him. He looks out the window and tries to hate the stupid man sleeping on him. “I guess not,” he says.

When did this happen, he wonders. In between pizza and gold foil and caught between hours and hours of driving in Steven’s tiny car. Something that manifested itself so slowly it was easier for them to ignore. It was easier to keep stealing smiles and fond glances from each other. It was for the show, they told themselves. It was for the views. Bullshit.

Annie pulls up in front of Andrew’s apartment. “Wake up the kid,” she says.

“Easier said than done,” Andrew grumbles. “Hey Steven, wake up. Annie needs your address.”

Steven just shoves his face deeper into Andrew’s shirt and makes a whining sound.

Fucking moron. Andrew’s not feeling soft.

“Get up, you idiot,” he says, pushing Steven’s head off him. “I need to go home. What’s your new address?”

Steven yawns and rubs his eyes. “My address? I don’t have my keys on me.”

“What the fuck.” Andrew’s mind is way too worn out to deal with this right now. He just wants to go home and never think about Steven Lim again until his contractual obligations force him to. “How do you not have your keys?”

“I gave them to Niki because they always fall out of my pockets.”

Annie groans. “Are you fucking kidding me, Lim. Ever heard of a bag?”

“It’s okay,” Andrew hears himself say tiredly. “He can just stay at my place tonight.”

Annie gives him an unreadable look. “Are you sure about that?”

God, she’s becoming like Adam, Andrew realizes in horror. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

On second thought, this was a mistake, Andrew realizes, when he’s dragging a barely conscious man through the halls of his apartment complex. Steven may look skinny but he’s a combination of a lot of loose limbs that seem to want to wander off on their own.

“Can you stand up?” he asks.

Steven responds with a muffled groan.

“Okay,” Andrew mutters. “I really hope no one calls the cops on me.”

It’s a miracle when they finally stumble through Andrew’s front door having avoided any run-ins with suspicious neighbors and without Andrew leaving Steven’s ass on the side of the street. Andrew dumps Steven on his bed and rubs his temples. _Well this is not how he expected the fantasy of having Steven Lim in his bed to turn out_ , he thinks grimly.

“I’m going to get some water, okay? Stay here,” he says, moving towards the bedroom door.

“Andrew?”

There's. Something in Steven’s voice, something that causes Andrew to pause and not turn around immediately, as if the air can sense the dark tone in his cadence. For some reason his heart has started to beat faster.

“Yeah?”

When he turns around, Steven’s standing startlingly close to him.

“I’m leaving soon,” Steven says.

“Yeah.” Andrew swallows. “It’s a good job. It’s a good opportunity for you.”

“ _Andrew_.” Steven’s voice is caught between something that sounds like a sob and something like frustration. “I…can...I kiss you?”

Andrew lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He closes his eyes. He’s always been a bit of a masochist.

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

There’s something despairing in both of them when they kiss for the first time. It’s nothing like a first kiss should be; there’s nothing sweet or tender in it. Steven grabs onto Andrew like he’s drowning and Andrew pushes him back towards the bed. It’s something that quickly becomes almost frantic and anxious, like they’re trying to make up for months of lost time. Andrew turns his head to press bruising kisses to Steven’s neck and deliberately does not think about Steven traveling with the collar of one of his many jackets turned up to hide the marks.

He wants to pinch himself. There’s no way this is happening right now. Except that Steven is now sitting solidly between his thighs, sighing into Andrew’s ear like every self-indulgent thought Andrew’s ever had at night and he has to ask so he doesn’t hate himself later. He asks although he’s known the answer since he licked his way into Steven’s mouth and tasted nothing but the too-sweet lingerings of maraschino cherries. A vindictive part of him wants to hear Steven admit it.

“Are you drunk, Steven?”

Steven doesn’t say anything for at first. His hands stop pulling at Andrew’s shirt and he doesn’t look directly at him.

“Nah,” he admits finally. A beat passes and then he asks, “Are you?”

“I am…a bit,” Andrew says. Then he says, “But not enough for me to not understand what’s going on. What’s been going on.”

They don’t speak or move for a while. The weight of what they’ve finally acknowledged settles between them. Outside, the faint rhythm of a nearby party can be felt through the floor. His window is open because summer is fucking hot and if he tilts his head slightly, Andrew can see one or two stars winking in the sky where the light pollution can’t touch them. He’s feeling disgustingly sentimental and desperately unhappy.

“I should have said something earlier,” Steven whispers.

Andrew shrugs. “I mean, we’re both idiots.”

Steven looks up at him. “I’m still going to New York,” he says.

“I know,” Andrew says. “I’m not some asshole who’s going to ask you to stay just because of me.”

_Don’t go. Stay. Please stay, Steven._

“We’ll still see each other. For filming and all.”

“I know,” Andrew repeats, irritated. Can the fucking lump in his throat please let him be a dignified adult in this situation. “I mean, you’re not moving companies or going to the other side of the world. It’s not a big deal.”

It’s not a big deal when he goes to work and still expects to see a head of silver to his right. It’s not a big deal when he absent-mindedly orders enough lunch for two because Steven always got upset when Andrew didn’t get him tacos as well. It’s not a big deal when he finally gets an Instagram and watches all Steven’s stories and feels an ache in his chest that makes him want to tear out his own stupid heart that’s still pleading with Steven to stay.

Steven kisses him lightly on the forehead.

 _Fuck that_ , Andrew thinks, and surges up to push Steven back into the mattress.

“Tell me to stop,” he says breathlessly.

Steven exhales. “Andrew, this doesn’t…you know this won’t change anything.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it? None of this will matter,” Andrew says through clenched teeth.

Stop fighting, Andrew wants to say. He always has to fucking fight Steven on everything. And somehow Andrew will always lose, because all Steven has to do is smile at him and he’ll fucking do anything, he’d jump off a fucking cliff for him.

Steven doesn’t say anything. He just sighs and reaches up to cradle Andrew’s jaw in a move that’s way too tender for what is essentially breakup sex, without even a past relationship to validate it. They kiss and for a moment it’s something gentle and normal and not massively fucked-up. When they break away for breath, Andrew gently brushes the tears off Steven’s face.

“This is what it should be like,” Steven says quietly, his voice cracking in the middle.

“Yeah, well.”

That’s the closest they get to affection. Steven winds his arms around Andrew’s neck and pulls him in, and Andrew lets himself get lost in it. And it’s not really even an act of love. They push and pull at each other, as if trying to express all their pent-up emotion in one physical action, demanding and wrestling the other into place until Andrew’s laid out on his back, trying to catch his breath, and Steven is crouched over him, looking anywhere but at him.

“I want to fucking feel you,” Andrew whispers, and Steven lets out a shuddering breath.

This is why they’d never work out, Andrew thinks to himself hazily. If this is what it feels like when they want to love each other, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want it, he thinks digging his nails into Steven’s back. He’s always been great at lying to himself.

(In the morning, there’s an ache in Andrew’s hips and scratches down Steven’s back and arms, because even when they're trying to love, all they can do is hurt each other. Later, Andrew notices a set of keys on the floor, right next to Steven’s wrinkled jacket and realizes that Steven really was the smarter one between them.)

When they wake up, neither of them say much. In a week, Steven will move to the other side of the country, and Andrew will watch him go. He won’t say a word about it. He’ll smile and wave goodbye and both of them will pretend that what happened that night was a dream. Nice to remember and relive, but nothing to mourn over.

“It wouldn’t work,” Steven says quietly in the middle of the night, when he thinks Andrew is sleeping. “Long distance never works.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> checks "mention of maraschino cherries" off my bingo trope card  
> [tumblr](https://keyolove.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
